


Still

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Naked Cuddling, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Everything grinds to a halt in the snow. Written for the Berena NSFW ficathon; prompt 'cuddles (naked)'.





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> The first entry in a squad challenge: 30 Days of NSFW Berena fics! I have the (scary) honour of kicking us off so I hope you enjoy!

Bernie fumbled with the catch of the lighter. After two disappointing clicks, it finally sprung to life. She bent her head, the tail of her cigarette catching light. The amber of the burning tobacco was the only colour in Bernie’s eye line; the back garden and the world beyond covered in a thick blanket of fresh snow. It had fallen during the night, sometime between their second bottle of wine and Bernie’s first craving for a cigarette. She blew out a plume of smoke, tapped her ash to the ground. A blot on a smooth canvas. Bernie took another drag, billowing smoke into the dusky pink sky. Her breath created similar puffs, moisture crystallising in the air. 

She stubbed her cigarette out against a patch of ice.

Bernie couldn’t remember the last time she had seen snow. _Proper_ snow. Not a thin dusting across the garage, not an icy morning where she had to scrape the car. But snow that hid everything; snow that turned blinding in the cool winter sun. Soon the rest of the estate would wake and see it too. The schools would close and the children would be out with sleds and snowballs. People would make risks on roads and pavements and they’d end up with Bernie on AAU. But for now there was nothing. No sounds, no sirens. Not even paw prints in the snow. It was _beautiful._

And cold. So _bloody_ cold.

The back door closed softly behind her. The house was just as quiet as the world outside. Nephews and stepdaughters were miles away, no doubt waking to similar snow falls. The lady of the house, however, was upstairs; still drifting in that space between dreaming and awake. Bernie listened as the house began to stir. The creak of the floorboards, the _tick tick tick_ as the boiler sprung to life. Kicking off snow crusted boots; Bernie hopscotched across cold tile towards the kettle. She spooned instant coffee into two mugs and got the milk from the fridge.

By the time the heating came on, Bernie was halfway up the stairs.

Their bedroom was still dark. Bernie slid one mug onto Serena’s bedside table, cradled the other whilst she took a spot at the foot of the bed. She watched her partner. A dark head poked out of burgundy sheets; a cream shoulder all on offer to the cool air. Bernie could see a bruise, punch dark and just as rich, in the junction between neck and shoulder. She traced her teeth with her tongue, recalling Serena’s gasp as she’d bitten down. The sheets shifted. Her back, dotted with scars and freckles, was now open to the elements. Abandoning her coffee, Bernie leant forward. Her lips lingered against Serena’s bare shoulder.

She flinched. “You’re _freezing._ ”

“ _Sorry_. Though, I’m _sure_ you could warm me up.”

Serena turned; eyes narrow and fuzzy with sleep. “Not when you smell of an ashtray.” 

“I can fix that.”

Bernie dropped another kiss to Serena’s shoulder before retreating to the ensuite. Everything seemed louder than usual: the scrape of the brush against her gums was deafening; the clatter of the mouthwash a full philharmonic orchestra. Through the open door, Bernie watched Serena drift in and out of sleep. There was still half an hour before the alarm went; thirty minutes before Radio Two would break the spell that had fallen over their home, the entire estate. Thirty minutes where it felt like they were the only two people on earth.

Mouth fresh, Bernie padded softly to their king sized bed. As she walked, she stripped herself down. The Holby City hoodie she’d recently been reissued with was the first to go. Then the shorts, meant for running and the occasional fag. They pooled around her ankles. She hadn’t bothered with knickers; couldn’t remember where Serena had tossed them before she’d turned her mouth on Bernie’s clit. Her t-shirt was last. Immediately her nipples pebbled in the cold air, her skin breaking out in goose flesh. Bernie slid under cool sheets and immediately sought the hot blooded woman beside her.

Serena hadn’t bothered with a nightgown or pyjamas after they’d made love. Underneath the cold linens she was warm, bare, wet. Bernie put that thought to one side; for now just content to hold Serena. Her nipples were firm against Serena’s back, damp curls resting against the curve of her behind. One arm, sinewy and lean, curled around Serena’s waist. Bernie tucked her head into the crook of her neck, welcomed back by a shallow kiss.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” Bernie teased the silver strands she found amongst the brown; Serena nuzzling into her open hand. Her own arm slid along Bernie’s, pulling her body flush until there wasn’t a pocket of air between them. Before – _before_ – her brain would have tried to reconcile such actions. _It’s cold,_ it would say. _You’re just sharing body heat._ But there was no need for an excuse, now; no explanation warranted. They were just two people, in lust and in love, who wanted to lie close together on a cold winter’s day.  

Bernie’s nose, pink from the cold, brushed Serena’s cheek. “There must be a good four inches out there.”

“There was a good seven in here last night,” Serena quipped, eyes twinkling. Bernie went as pink as her nose, recalling in vivid detail the night before. Her partner just laughed, stealing a kiss. “But, truly, I do love it when it snows. Not at work, of course; too many accidents. But before that. It’s so quiet. Like we’re the only two people in the world.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Serena smiled, her head settling against Bernie’s chest. They held each other for a while, both revelling in the quiet. Listening to Serena’s breath; the rise and fall of Bernie’s chest. Occasionally their hands wandered; gentle, exploratory touches. A nipple tweaked, a thigh stroked. The scrape of nails along Bernie’s scalp. But mostly they lay, wrapped in each other, enjoying a rare moment. Both were used to a faster pace. Neither could remember the last time they had held each other like this without a cloud of grief or anxiety hovering over them.  

Both promised, just before the alarm went off, that they wouldn’t wait for the next snow to do it again.  


End file.
